


My Head is an Animal

by LittleEvilIsa



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-04 12:17:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1778845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleEvilIsa/pseuds/LittleEvilIsa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles about Katniss and Peeta through out THG series.<br/>Inspired by Of Monsters and Men's album "My Head is an Animal"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Numb Bears

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a little idea I had some time ago. It was supposed to be my first published work, but then PiP came around and I couldn't help myself. After that, real life kept me away from it for a while. Since it has been a while since I uploaded something, I decided to submit the first chapter of this little project for “Write me a song fic week” for everlarksongfics on Tumblr! If you've never heard of them, go check on Tumblr. It's a new beautiful blog dedicated to Everlark fictions inspired by music. Help them grow as much as you can!  
> Since it is a fairly short WiP, I'd prefer to post the chapters all together, or at least very close to each other. It's still not completed (University is keeping me busy) so it'll take a while, sorry.  
> The chapters follow a chronological order, not the order of the tracks. The words in italics are lyrics from the songs. I used only those lyrics that would help me in the narration.  
> I don't own THG nor My Head is an Animal.  
> Sorry for the long A/N. Now, on to reading!

[](http://it.tinypic.com?ref=25z58ab)

 

**Katniss' POV**

The winter of my twelfth year in this life was definitely the hardest I ever had so far.

The mine hadn't collapsed only on my father and the other miners that were down there on that fateful day. It had collapsed on my family. On my mother, unresponsive and numb to the world, closed in her bedroom, looking at all and at nothing. On my sweet little sister Prim, protruding ribs and bony limbs, crying because of her empty stomach. On me, on my happiness, on my smiles and songs, on my confidence about my ability to do something for the people I love, on my future.

And most definitely, on my hope.

But I do remember someone, something, a little thing that was actually the biggest, the most important, the greatest thing that was able to give me back hope.

I _can't remember_ if _it was dark_ , or middle day, _or_ if _the sun_ was _coming up_ , or down.

The rain was cold, colder than winter itself. The streets were muddy, and Prim's old baby clothes were muddy, and I was muddy and cold.

After the umpteenth door slammed in my face, I didn't know what I was doing anymore. I just kept wandering through the Town, clutching those muddy baby clothes with all the strength I had left. It wasn't really much, since I fell. The clothes, even more muddier than before, stayed where they had slipped, while I could only stand up on wobbly legs and keep wandering.

I'm not certain what I was looking for in the garbage bins behind the bakery. Maybe I was _fishing for a friend_ , or for food, or for a shard of life to take home to Prim.

But nothing was left there for me, not when the baker's wife screamed at me and I couldn't do nothing but run – no, crawl away, and fall under an apple tree.

I wasn't ashamed of my complete failure, even though I was devastated at the idea of letting Prim down, of being the cause of her death. But there was nothing I could do. I was dying myself.

I was numb. Numb as my mother in her bedroom. Numb as the Town people rejecting me for being a starving Seam brat. Numb as bears in their caves. And they were like _numb bears at home_.

And _I could never get there_ , my home, not again. I was dying under an apple tree and I could _never get there_.

There was nothing left.

Nothing but a pair of worried blue eyes, peering at me from behind the baker's wife. And a commotion inside the bakery. And screams and noises of smashing things. And a red welt on that milk-white cheek. And the warm, still steamy, barely burnt loaves of nuts and raisin bread. And the slight burning sensation of the bread against my cold, numb skin.

I don't know where I found the strength. Maybe it was actually that bread that gave it to me.

But the next thing I know, I was running full speed home. Not caring if I was _breaking little twigs with my feet_ – I would have started caring about it just a couple of days later – or that that from Town to the Seam was _a road that's so steep_ I could have fall and break a leg, or my neck for all I knew.

The only thing I was caring about was that bread under my soaked shirt, and Prim who would have had something to eat after so many days of chewing on mint leaves, and the fact that, while those Town people, _while_ those _numb bears at home_ were thinking and probably hoping that _I could never get there_ , never get home, _I_ was _already there_.

I remember the curious but not demanding glance of a black eye the next day.

And I remember the little, yellow dandelion, the friend, food, shard of life I could take home to Prim, together with that newfound, warm hope.

And I remember Peeta Mellark.


	2. Your Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back! The story is finally complete, so now I'm gonna post it, probably every 2-3 days, I still have to decide.  
> This chapter is longer than the first, and has a different POV. The chapters are mostly from Katniss' POV, but some will be from Peeta's because I felt that certain songs could be referred to him better.  
> I don't own THG series nor My Head is an Animal.  
> Now, on to reading!

[ ](http://it.tinypic.com?ref=25z58ab)

 

**Peeta's POV**

White pain shoots from my leg through all my body as I unsteadily wobble away from the tracker jackers' tree. I got some nasty stings from the venomous insects, but what worries me the most is the blood hastily and abundantly pouring out of the wound Cato inflicted me. I feel dizzy and nauseous, but I don't have time to stop to catch my breath, or inspect the actual state of my injury. Plus, the venom hadn't been doing anything but increasing my panic and pain. I have to get as far away as possible.

With some effort, through horrendous visions, I arrive to the river, where, out of strength, I fall face first and pass out on the muddy ground. That's what give me the idea when I wake up, who knows how long after that. I cover myself with mud as fast and as thoroughly as I can.

With my alliance with the careers' pack broken and my bleeding leg, there is absolutely no chance for me to stay alive in the Arena. And I need to stay alive, if I still want Katniss to win the Games.

I've done my best back there, when I fought Cato to give her enough time to escape. From there, she was on her own. At least until I'll feel better.

But now I'm not fooling myself anymore. Fever has obviously taken over my body, and the humidity of the river bank isn't helping me fight the cold shivers that are overtaking me at all time. Nor the way too scorching sun of the day hours is helping with the excessive perspiration.

I don't have to look at my leg to be sure about it. I'm not an idiot. I know what blood poisoning looks like.

I don't know how long I stay here, laying in mud, feverish. Long enough for me to start hallucinating. Because they were obviously hallucinations. My brothers weren't in the Arena with me. Luckily.

“Hey, lil' bro.” says Rye sitting next to my leg, a slightly disgusted expression on his face that tells me anything I need to know about its state.

Bran stands in his place, hovering over us like the protective big brother he's always been, looking more stoic than ever. “How are you, Peeta?” he asks.

“Bad, if you are here.” I whimper. A little, sad smile cracks his face, but just for a second.

We fall silent for a while, then Rye suddenly perches up. “Hey, Peet! Do you remember that time _in the spring_ after you turned six when _we made a boat out of feathers_?”

“Bones.” interjects Bran.

“What?” both Rye and I ask him.

“We made it _out of bones_.” he says. “Chicken bones, to be precise.”

Rye looks at him for a long moment, the confusion of someone who remember things going in another way clear on his face. He dismisses it pretty quickly, though, waving his hand towards our older brother. “Yeah, whatever. Anyway, Peet, do you remember it? We tried to make it float in the basin mom uses to do the laundry.”

“Yeah.” I smile weakly. “It sank.”

“Yeah” he chuckles.

“You guys were fools to think that a boat made of bones would float.” Bran says crunching beside us.

Rye punches him on the arm. “Shut up! You gave me the idea.”

He shakes his head and looks at me. “And do you remember that time, a couple of winter after, when we wanted dad to find the bakery ready to go and we sneaked in the kitchen in the middle of the night and tried to turn on the ovens?”

I chuckle a little at this. How could I forget that memorable night? _We set fire to our home_. “Rye and I were so scared of mom's reaction that we fled to the meadow, even if we were _walking barefoot in the snow_.” I grimace at this. Bran took the majority of the brunt of our mother's wrath that night. “Sorry about that.” I tell him.

He shrugs. “Water under bridges.”

“So, you're here for this? Reminisce on the past one last time before your little bro leaves this world for good?” I asks them.

“Whatever you want, Peeta.” Bran says. “We are not really here. We are in your head, so we do whatever you want us to do.”

“Oh.”

We fall silent once again. I can feel the little strength I've left slip out of me. I know I'm about to lose consciousness. But I don't know if I will open my eyes to see my brothers again. If this is our last chance, then I have to say something, thank you, goodbye.

“I'm happy you came, guys.” I mumble as my eyelids start to close on their own volition and all I can do is fight against them. And lose, apparently. “Thanks.” is the only thing I can say to sum up all I'm feeling. I hope they understand that I'm not thanking them for being here in this moment. It's for all the times they were there. For helping me when I first was learning dad's recipes, or practicing for wrestling matches in our shared room, or defending me from mom, or simply being my brothers.

“Everything for you, lil' bro.” Rye says.

“Bye, guys.”

The last thing I hear before losing my struggle to stay awake is Bran's voice as he whispers something akin to “Bye, Peetie.”

When I wake up my throat is dry as a desert at midday. Despite I'm laying only two feet from the river, it takes me time and fatigue to crawl to the water. And when I finally am there, I drink greedily, cupping water in my muddy hands. Not worrying about possible sickness.

What gives me pause is something hard that I put in my mouth with the water without even noticing it. I spit it on my hand and observe it.

A tooth.

Instinctively I count my teeth with my tongue. They're at their place, all twenty-eight. It isn't mine.

I look back at the water, and that's when I see them. A bunch of teeth are stuck on the river bed. Some are just starting to get free, led by the current. Someone _lost his teeth_ and _now they're swimming in the_ river.

I turn just in time to throw up on the ground. My stomach aches with every painful heave, pushing out only its gastric juices. Then I slump on the puddle of my own vomit – I vaguely think of Haymitch – and pass out.

The next time I'm _awaken by the sound of a screaming owl_. Wait. Are there owls in the Arena? Wait. Do owls scream? Huh.

It's night. There are a _million stars up in the sky_. But who knows if they are real or just projected in the sky by the Capitol. Like the faces of the fallen tributes.

In the fever induced slumber I somehow had a nice dream. I was with Katniss, out in the woods back in District 12, hunting. Well, she was hunting. I was following her mesmerized as she was crunching _leaves in the wind_ to determine which way to go to not let her prey catch her scent. I knew we were _going where_ I'd _never been_ , and that thrilled me to no end.

“Peeta?”

I slowly turn my head towards the sound, trying to focus my bleary eyes on the figure next to me. Blonde curls tidily cascade over her shoulders, and soft blue eyes search my face worriedly. I would recognize that heart-shaped face everywhere. “...Delly?”

“Hey.” A gentle smile stretches my best friend's face. I'm so happy to see her face. She moves her hand to stroke my hair, but hesitates and then retrieves it. Instead she shakes her head, and her smile grows in a teasing smirk. “You're filthy.”

I chuckle.

“You did it, Peeta. You held on to your promise to not lose yourself in the Games. You've been so good, Peeta. Bet it's not over yet. You can't die this way.” Her smile is once again sweet.

“What are you talking about?” I mumble.

“ _Hold on_ , Peeta” She says. “ _Hold on to your heart_. Someone will come to help you, I promise.”

“How can you... be so sure about...”

“I just am.” I smile weakly.

That's Delly for you. Always the optimist. Even when I'm dying and I'm certainly not so positive about the near future. Or maybe I am. I mean, if she is just in my head, she could be saying what I am thinking too. Or maybe that is just what I think she would say. I'm happy that at least I can see her, though. I don't speak my thoughts, but surely Delly can read them on my face. Her eyes fill up with tears and she unsuccessfully tries to stifle a sob.

“Love you, Dell.” I tell her. What else could you say to the best friend of a lifetime in what is probably the last time you'll see each other?

“Love you too, Peetie.” she sniffs.

“Goodbye.”

“ _Goodbye to you, my friend_.”

With Delly no more next to me, I take the chance to say goodbye to all the people that hasn't come see me during the previous days. My parents. Yes, my mother included. She could be a major bitch when she gets mad, but she's my mother, still. My other friends from school. Portia and my prep team, that I came to care about since the beginning of all this nightmare. Effie Trinket and her pink, all-over-the-place attire. Even Haymitch, who had not helped me not even once while in the Arena. Well, at least I'm sure he's helping Katniss. That's enough.

My last thought goes to her. Wherever she is, I hope she's safe. Or simply alive.

After that, I just lay there, waiting for someone, anyone – Cato, death, her – to find me.

I still don't know if it is out of luck or not that Katniss is the one to.


	3. Six Weeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I said I would update every 2-3 days and I'm already late. I'm sorry. But between exams and my birthday, RL is keeping me busy. I will keep my word from now on, promise!  
> Another chapter from Peeta's POV, but a little bit different from the other.  
> I don't own THG nor My Head is an Animal.  
> Now, on to reading!

**Peeta's POV**

Even though it seemed years, the 74th Annual Hunger Games lasted roughly a month. From the moment when Effie Trinket's neatly polished hand reaped mine and Primrose's names from the glass balls, to the day when Katniss and I finally put our feet on the train returning to District 12.

We made it. We actually made it. We won, and we're alive, and we're together.

The idea still seems absurd. Not only I survived the Arena – sure, I lost a leg, but I'm still breathing – but Katniss is with me. And that certainly beats any negative aspect. And there are many of them.

The day prior, before we saw each other for the first time after the announcement of our victory, I was awaken by the first of many nightmares to come. It's not that I wasn't expecting it. I wasn't so naïve to not know that there are no way that surviving the horrors I saw in the Arena won't come with severe after effects. Nightmares, insomnia, daytime hallucination – and phantom limb syndrome, in my case – are the obvious symptoms of a PTSD, after all. And looking at Haymitch, it's obvious that it would have happen to us too. Minus the alcoholism, hopefully.

What I wasn't expecting was to have such a descriptive nightmare.

_I_ sleep  all night, while the young, they wait  alone _. Contrary to them, I'm not alone. The entire pack, my brothers and sisters, are with me. The mutt pack._

_We_ get  up  _with the sun and_ shake the rust _from our fur and paws. Then_ we crawl on the ground _, out of our cave, and our hunt begins._

_The young are easy to find. Even without our unerring noses, they don't know how to hide themselves properly. There's always a hint of where they are, what way they took, if they are injured. And in the last scenario, find them is even easier._

_I watch my siblings take them down one after one until night comes. And even then we keep hunting. We don't know why we can't stop. We've been scouting the woods all day long, without a break to rest or eat, because we can't eat the young. But something in us pushes us to go on. And on we go._

_We find two male young attacking each other. They're too engrossed in taking the other down to hear us. Until the last moment. The blond one manages to get away, but the dark one is wounded and we overpower him easily. When we hear the booming sound of the life leaving him, we jump off in pursuit of the blond young._

_On the way we chance upon two other young, a male and a female who set off running at our sight. They almost make it to the shiny thing in the big clearing next to the lake. The male helps the female to get on, but when he's about to jump on himself, my claws close around his leg and he falls. He's dead in a second._

_The female is not willing to follow her companion. She has a strange weapon, one that throws pointed metal things in our bodies. If those things hit us in particularly delicate places, we're dead. And it seems like there is an endless source of them on the shiny thing. And_ we fall to the ground _. I watch as the female kills my brothers and sisters with no effort._

_Rage and fury take over me. How dare she? They're all my family, and now I'm alone._

_With all the strength in me I jump on the shiny thing. The leap isn't high enough and I hit my chest against the metallic edge. My claws scratch against the metal and I somehow manage to hoist me up._

_The other young is there too. Two against one. I'm not used to be outnumbered, but it doesn't matter. I have the revenge of my family to drive me._ Alone, I fight these animals _._

_The male is the closer to me, so I jump on him immediately. He throws punches and kicks, but I barely feel them. What I feel is a piercing pain at my left back leg. Howling of pain, I turn my head towards the female. Her weapon is aimed at me, but she doesn't have more of those pointed things with her. I growl, showing my fangs, red with blood. She doesn't make a sound, but she falls on her behind, staring at me with eyes wide with terror. I turn my attention back to the male. I don't know what kind of fur he has. It's hard and difficult to tear through. But I find places where his fur isn't protecting him. His fingers and his face, for example. His flesh comes off easily. His screams of pain are my fuel. Then his life booms away._

_I slowly turn towards the female again. She hasn't moved from her place. I approach her while we stare each other down and suddenly the time seems to stop. Her mercury gaze is somehow able to_ slow me down _, to stop me. But then she blinks and it's over._

_In another blink, I'm on her and my fangs sink in her throat. The taste of her blood on my tongue is heaven._

_And in another blink her cannon goes off as I come back to myself. I'm not a mutt. I don't have paws, claws and fur, but limbs, nails and skin. I'm human._

_When I look at the person under me, I immediately recognize her. Her long, brown braid. Her grey eyes, now glazed over and fixed on nothing. And_ her blood _is on my hands, in my mouth,_ on my bones _._

_And the voice of Claudius Templesmith resounds through the Arena announcing to all Panem “the winner of the 74_ _th_ _Hunger Games, Peeta Mellark!”_

But then I woke up, I had been prepped and the silver cane that the doctor had given me the first time I had tried my new leg out had been thankfully shoved in my hand.

And Katniss was in front of me, in my arms, kissing me, leaning on me on the red velvet loveseat.

And then we were on the train coming home. _She_ had _follow_ ed _me into the woods_ , and now she was _tak_ ing _me home_.

So, there's no reason for me to not be ecstatic. Because we made it. We actually made it. We won, and we're alive, and we're together.

But then Katniss has to say she is confused.


	4. Love, Love, Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Katniss' POV!  
> I don't own THG nor My Head is an Animal.  
> Now, on to reading!

[](http://it.tinypic.com?ref=25z58ab)

**Katniss' POV**

If I thought that the conversation on the train was painful – mostly to Peeta – and awkward – mostly to me – then I didn't know anything. Because the dinner party for mine and Peeta's return in District 12 is way worst than painful and awkward.

Peeta's hand around mine is loose and cold, like all the warmth that it gave me in the Arena had staid there. He has a smile plastered on his face all the time, but it is only a shadow of that dazzling grin he gave to Capitol City for the duration of the Games, or even the smile that just seemed so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness from the last night on the roof.

Everytime he can, he takes his hand away and put the more distance between us as possible. Just like right now. I'm sitting at my place of honour, next to mayor Undersee, talking to Prim. Peeta is at the opposite side of the hall, stiffly holding his cane while having a conversation with Haymitch. I don't know what they are talking about, but by the heated glare Peeta sends the mentor's way and by how tense his body looks, I can easily guess.

Then suddenly Peeta looks at me. I startle. That was the last thing I was expecting. He had avoided looking at me since the train had arrived at the station. I look away immediately, guilt – for what exactly I don't know – and shame for being caught staring at him smothering me.

I smile and nod at Prim when she asks me if I am okay, and then try to focus on her recount of something funny Buttercup did, but it's impossible to concentrate with the sensation of something – someone – burning holes in the side of my head.

From the corner of my eye I can see Peeta's eyes are still on me. I slowly turn my head in his direction, guilt and shame be damned, and our eyes lock. His are so sad and mad at the same time that I can't find it in me to turn away from him. It is so obvious that it isn't even funny, _that those bright blue eyes can only meet mine across a room filled with people that are less important than_ him. Because, no matter who they are, they didn't just escape death with me. Their future isn't tied to mine because of a reckless action into which people read too much.

And _all 'cause_ him _love_ s _, love_ s _, love_ s _, when_ he _know_ s _I_ _can't love_. Not anyone, not him. I can't afford to care for someone outside of my family. Because to love someone can destroy you. Not considering that love lead to marriage and marriage lead to children. And I will never have children. Especially not now.

Suddenly, I am mad. I frown at Peeta and finally manage to go back to Prim, that in the meantime didn't notice my attention was elsewhere. He is mad? Then I can be mad too. I didn't know that it was real for Peeta. How could I? How can anybody in a life or death situation think that that wasn't a strategy to stay alive, honestly?

_Well, maybe I'm a crook for stealing_ his _heart away. Yeah. Maybe I'm a crook for not caring for it. Yeah, maybe I'm a bad person._

And with that my anger deflates. Something heavy lodges on my chest, making breathing without hurting impossible. I really am a bad person. Unconsciously, I led Peeta on, without even thinking about making things clear before he got strange ideas. But then again, when could I had told him that? While I was tending to his infected wound? Or when I was bribing him with kisses to make him eat?

_So_ how could he really blame me if _I think_ _it's best we both forget_ _before we_ _dwell_ _on it_? Even if I already know that forgetting won't be easy.

The end of the festivity doesn't mean I can finally have my privacy back. I was hoping to maybe be able to sneak out of the hall unnoticed and disappear from the world, at least for a while. I simply can't stand the spotlight anymore, especially without Peeta as support. Obviously, the all party has to escort Peeta and I to the Victors' Village.

During the trek to the village, he is again forced to take my hand. This time his hold is stronger, but I'm not fooling myself. The road is steep and hard, only half lit by the few and scattered streetlights. He only needs help with his not yet stable equilibrium.

The party isn't allowed to follow Peeta and I inside the gate of the village, at least. Something about safety rules. For once, I'm glad about the Capitol's rules.

My house is in front of Haymitch's, his three houses away.

The second Peeta is in front of my alley, he lets my hand go as if it burns. “Goodnight, Katniss.” he mumbles, not even bothering to look at me. Then he tries a somewhat hasty retreat, reaching his front door in what he probably hopes are mere seconds and vanishing in the darkness of his house.

There still is that burden on my chest that kept me from breathing properly, and seeing his reaction doesn't help at all. I look at the hand that was in Peeta's. I can't help but compare how he has been acting since the other day on the train and his attitude in the Capitol. And how loose was his hold on my hand tonight compared to the last night in the Arena, _the way_ he _held me so tight all through the night 'til it was near morning_ , as he almost bled to death.

I release a ragged breath when the flicker of a thought crosses my mind. That probably after tonight _these fingertips_ _will never run through his skin_ , ever again. For a moment I feel myself drown in sadness, and I even think that I will miss it. Miss him.

But then my mind goes back to what has just happened. He's obviously dead set on avoiding me for the rest of his life. Or at least until the obligations of being a victor will impose to him to show up at my side. And just with that, my anger flares again in me. Why should I even care about him, or about what he thinks of me, or what he does? I've never wanted nothing to do with him in the first place. Not to consider that I saved his goddamn life! What he has to act so wounded about? Guilt tries again to raise its head, but I immediately squash it. Katniss Everdeen, the huntress, the Seam rat, has no place in her life for such a feeling.

He's ignoring me? Good, I will do the same. I already know that I'm actually very good at it. Peeta Mellark will learn pretty soon that this is a game two can play.


	5. From Finner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an happy song. I don't know why I did this.  
> I don't own THG nor My Head is an Animal  
> Now, on to reading!

[ ](http://it.tinypic.com?ref=25z58ab)

 

**Katniss' POV**

The stop in District 4 is peaceful so far. We arrive early in the morning, so early that we are ahead of Effie's schedule.

So now we are on the beach, Peeta and I. And two Peacekeepers who have to make sure we don't run, I guess.

The sand is warm and soft under my bare feet, so different from that around the lake back at home. _The salty ocean wind ma_ kes _the seagulls cry_ , and I squint my eyes as I look up at the blue sky. It's funny how, despite being February, this District doesn't seem to know the concepts of winter and snow. I inhale deeply, then flop on my back on the sand.

Peeta, seated next to me, chuckles lightly, his sketchbook perched on his good knee as he draws.

For as terrifying this all experience is, having Peeta with me made it much more tolerable. I can say that, after the hard time following our return from the Games, we became friends. Or the closest thing to friends that we could be. His steady presence by my side during the day, in my bed in the dark and unforgiving night, is the only thing that keeps me going. The gentle strokes of his thumb on mine as we hold hands while making a speech and the strong hold of his arms encircling me when I wake up screaming and crying are what have _me holding on_. When I'm with Peeta, _I kn_ ow _that I_ am _safe from there on out_.

I get up abruptly. "Let's swim." I tell Peeta, offering him my hand to help him stand up.

He looks hesitantly between my proffered hand and the ocean lapping languidly at the shoreline. "Um... I can't swim." he mutters.

"Oh." My hand falls at my side. But we finally have some time for ourselves, we can't waste it sitting doing nothing. I kneel down and start rolling the legs of my pants up. Peeta looks at me inquisitively and I tell him to do the same. "We're going for a stroll in the shallow end."

He hesitates a moment more, but my eagerness seems to spur him on. Once our pants are rolled up and he is stood with a little help from me, I intertwine our fingers and pull him towards the ocean. This has become a normal act for us; holding hands, using each other as support, physically and mentally.

The water is cold, and Peeta lets out a gasp when it hits the skin of his real leg. I laugh and kick at the water to splash him more. He feigns outrage and then starts kicking at the water himself. Our splash war leaves us drenched and clutching our sides. The last time I've seen Peeta so seemingly carefree was in the cave, when he was cracking jokes and doing imitations, as if he wanted to make us both forget where we were. And now, I almost forget the reason why we are in this beach, laughing and playing. _We are far from home, but we're so happy_.

But _after every sunny day_ comes _a stormy night_.

Stepping on the stage that evening, holding hands in front of the families of the dead tributes of District 4, I can't help but feel relieved that I wasn't the one who killed them. But in the moment that my eyes meet those of their parents and siblings, the hurt and anger and sadness in them crush every bit of relief in me. The horror of our situation falls back on me, squashing me.

I let Peeta do the speech, he's always been better than me with words.

His hand never leaves mine. I know that this is difficult for him too, because his hand is cold and clammy. But it doesn't shake. It never shakes.

The speech ends with the usual praise of the Capitol, "whose greatness made possible for our love to bloom from the harshness that destiny put us both through. _And_ now _we are far from home, but we're so happy_."

As Peeta says out loud the words that I had thought during the day on the beach, I notice how empty they sound in this contest, how constructed and cold, while in my mind they were like a light, a hope that, no matter what will happened, as long as I had Peeta by my side, I could overcome anything.

We are ushered inside the Justice Building, and then we are on our way back to the train. I let Peeta's hand go.

My head feels so heavy after this night, and I feel emptied of all the happiness and lightness that had been filling me since the morning. How does the Capitol do it? How do they make me feel free one moment, and completely trapped the next?

I'm lost in my thoughts and I don't notice the figure standing in front of the train door talking with Haymitch until I slam against it.

I'm propelled back, but Peeta is right beside me and keeps me upright with an arm around my waist. "Are you alright?" he asks me. I just nod.

I catch a chuckle and a glimpse of green eyes before the figure – a man, it seems – walks away, his voice light in the evening air, seemingly innocent. " _Keep your heads held high_ , both of you."

I watch him as he disappears in the crowd. Who is this man? Why was he talking with Haymitch? And why do I feel like there is another meaning behind the words he left behind?

I'm startled out of my thoughts by Peeta's hand clutching mine.

I look back at him, his face concerned, and I feel a spark of that hope I felt this morning coming back at me. Sweet Peeta. Always here with me, always protecting me.

He squeezes my hand, his silent way to tell me, "I'm with you."

I squeeze back. "I'm with you too."

Our head are held high as we step on the train. They will be when we'll face President Snow too. Together, me and Peeta.


	6. King and Lionheart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own THG nor My Head is an Animal.  
> Now, on to reading!

[ ](http://it.tinypic.com?ref=25z58ab)

 

**Katniss' POV**

I look at Peeta as he silently sleeps next to me in my bed. I'm glad that I let myself open up to him again, and that he let it happen. Those nights that I spent away from the cocoon of warmth that his arms create around me have been hell, a seemingly never ending nightmare of severed tongues, _howling ghosts_ , and dying baker's boys.

I woke up extremely thirsty, and I was going to get a glass of water from the bathroom when my eyes fell on Peeta. I couldn't move after that.

His blonde waves, tousled in sleep, shine like pale silver as the moonlight filters from the window. Or maybe they are the _bright blue_ Capitol _lights_ , artificial and sterile. But as the beams – being they real or not – touch the thick locks, they give him an halo of almost sanctity. It reminds me of the Tributes' Parade, only a few days ago – but it seems months or years – when we were _taking over this town_ in our costumes of glowing embers and dark, unforgiving stares. Back then, his golden hair, over-shining the black metal on his head and infused in the light of the sunset that he so much loves, looked like a _crown_ t hat _lit up the way as we moved slowly past the wondering eyes of the ones that were left behind._ The same look he had today on the roof, when he woke me up so I could see the sunset with him.

He was so beautiful, like a little but blinding sun all of my own, his hand intertwined with mine. He still is, his face devoid of any make-up even more handsome.

His features, perfectly relaxed in the deep slumber, summon my fingers. Their pull is so strong I barely notice my hand is moving, and only when I see it enter my field of vision and gently graze the soft skin of his cheekbone.

What I wouldn't do for this boy. This perfect, selfless boy that for some irrational reason thinks he can give up his life for me. Silly baker's boy.

My fingers slide over the perfect slope of his nose and over his plump, pink mouth, slightly parted in his sleep. His warm exhalations tickle my fingertips, and a smile slowly blooms on my lips when I realize that, _though far away_ in time, _we're still the same_ , still trying to protect each other from other twenty-two tributes, and from the madness of this world. Because that's what we do, what we have been doing since the first Arena, consciously or not.

I know that all I've left is tomorrow. I'm not sad about it. I said goodbye to the people I love back home, now I'm ready to give all of me to this person sleeping in my bed. _And as_ my _world comes to an end, I'll be here to hold_ his _hand._ And I'm happy with it. Because Peeta is a king, and he deserves to live. He deserves to live, to love and be loved. He deserves to get grey and older. He deserves everything.

So I smile, because I know _that we won't run. We're here to stay,_ and fight for each other. Obviously, Peeta is gonna fail in his purpose, I'll do anything to make it this way. He will live longer than me, possibly as Victor over Victors.

_'Cause_ he's _my king and I'm_ his _lionheart_.  That's what I am now, what I became when I made my decision. For him.

My fingers moves over his long lashes, as silvery as the hair on his head, as hypnotizing as they were that day in my kitchen back in the Victors' Village, when i couldn't diverge my stare from the lovely expression of concentration on his face as he brought the page of my father's plants book to life.

The movement must wake him, because he stirs suddenly and one of his eyelids lifts up to let out a glimpse of the blue of his eyes. I make to move my hand away, afraid to bother him and ashamed to have been caught, once again, admiring him. He is somehow quicker than me, and his hand darts up to catch mine and press it against his smooth cheek. Another small smile takes residence on my face.

"Hey." he murmurs groggily.

"Hey." I say back.

"Why you're awake? Had a nightmare?" Both his eyes open up, albeit with a great effort – all this months haven't been easy for him, either, and a good night sleep hasn't been easy to come by – but the worry in them is visible.

I shake my head and let my thumb caress his cheek reassuringly. Sometimes, he needs it too. "I was just thirsty."

"Oh." The relief is instantaneous. "Do you want me to get some water for you?".

He tries to get up before I answer him, so I curl my arms around his neck and keep him where he is, right beside me. "No, I've already drank." I don't tell him that what I've actually been drinking up was him, as if his peaceful face was the freshest water spring. "Let's go back to sleep."

Peeta barely nods. He relaxes against the mattress and snakes his arms around my waist, bringing me flush against his firm body. I melt into Peeta and his warmth.


	7. Little Talks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the little delay, I didn't have access to a computer all day yesterday.  
> I don't own THG not My Head is an Animal.  
> Now, on to reading!

[](http://it.tinypic.com?ref=25z58ab)

**Katniss' POV**

This must be a dream. It's the only explanation to why I'm here in my room in Victors' Village in the middle of the night. Last time I checked, I was in Two, and someone had shot me.

My hand goes to my side, looking for the signs left on me by a bullet, but I can't find any. My fingers clutch the soft material of the nightgown I used to sleep in before the Quarter Quell, and the bed has the same scent, of clean sheets dried in the sun.

Maybe... Maybe this isn't a dream. Maybe the rebellion, District 13 is the dream, and this is real.

I jump out of bed and run down the corridor to Prim's room. The door is open, and as I charge in, I notice the dishevelled look of the room. Her bed is unmade, sheets rumbled and pillow on the floor. The wardrobe is open, but all her clothes are still there. So are her books and ribbons. But no Prim. Everything is covered by a thin layer of dust. Or ashes.

Before I panic, I sprint out and towards my mother's room. It's the same.

I start calling their names, but they don't answer me. The first floor is as empty as the second. Where are they? What happened here?

Haymitch. He may know something. They could be with him.

I run towards my mentor's house, bare feet pounding on the gravel that separates our houses.

The door is locked, and no one answer me when I knock, pound, claw at the wooden door, shouting.

I crumble on the old, unkempt porch, my head against the door as my body heaves. If this were any other occurrence, I'd go to Peeta's. But I can go there. There's no Peeta there. Not my Peeta. Not anymore. Only the lost boy with no memory that tried to strangle me out of fear.

“I'm sorry about that.”

I freeze when I hear his voice. It's the same soothing baritone that I would listen to during interviews, speeches,  _little talks_ .

I hesitantly turn my head, and there he is, taking my breath away.

He looks healthy, like before the Quell. His hair is perfectly ruffled, and his smile is the same he gave me on more than an occasion. He is him. I know it because his eyes are blue as the morning sky, as gentle and loving as I remember them.

“Peeta.” My voice is a whisper so frail, I don't know if he heard me.

He moves slowly, climbing the few steps on Haymitch's porch and kneeling next to me.

I recoil when I feel his hand on my cheek, the memory of the last time he touched me painfully engraved in my brain. When a flash of sadness pass through his eyes, though, I relax on his touch, wanting to reassure this Peeta that's so obviously the one I loved and to reassure myself that this is not a dream.

“I'm afraid it is.” Peeta says with a rueful smile.

I start shivering. Of course it is a dream. District 12 doesn't exist anymore. Peeta doesn't exist anymore. He is  _gone, gone, gone away. I watched_ him _disappear_ through the propos the Capitol would air.  _All that's left is a ghost of_ him _._ I lost him, and for all I try, I can't get to him. He won't let me, now.

I screw my eyes shut as Peeta wraps his arms around me, and I melt into him, inhaling his scent. I didn't know I missed his scent, like cinnamon and dill. But I missed it so much. I missed him so much.

“You need to go back.” he says. “ _I'll walk with you_.” He _hold_ s _my hand_ and try to bring me on my feet, but I just can't move. I don't want to move if this means Peeta could go away. So I just clutch his hand with both of mine and pull him down.

He sighs. He hoists me up and my arms immediately fly around his neck, probably squeezing the life out of him. Peeta doesn't protest, he just bring me back to my house.

_ The stairs creak as  _ we climb to the second floor and to my room, but other than that, there's not a sound in  _ this old and empty house. _

Since I refuse to release my hold on him, Peeta lays down in my bed with me, gently cradling my face in his big, warm hand. “ _Close your eyes_ . Sleep.” he tells me.

“I don't want to sleep.”

“Why not?”

“You'll go away.” I don't want him to go away. I never wanted it. All I've ever wanted was for him to live. And now, our lives are so bound together that, in order to make me suffer, he has to suffer. Everytime I think it will be the last, but it never is. I keep finding and losing him. But maybe this time will really be the last. Because of me, Peeta has lost the only thing he wanted to keep safe: himself. Why would he ever want to come back to me now?

He brings me flush against him as the first tears run down my face, one of his hands caressing my hair and the other drawing small, soothing circles on my small back.

Apologies fall from my lips as I grip handfuls of his shirt, trying to keep him near me.

“It's not your fault.”

“It is, Peeta. It is.” Everything that happened to him is my fault. His leg, his heart, his mind, his family. I took it all away. And now he hates me, and he is scared of me, and he has every reasons to. “ _It's killing me to see you this way_.”

“Hey. Enough of that.” He puts his fingers under my chin so that I look at him. Then his hand splays over my cheek, his thumb wiping away the tears there. “That person... That is not me. He may look like me, being in my body, but he's not me. You know it, right?”

I'm hesitant to answer. Peeta is silent until I weakly nod.

“Whatever that person says, it is not true. You've been my north star for years, since _we were young and full of life and full of love._ I would never think anything like that about you. _Don't listen to a word I say,_ they're not real. Yeah, sure, _some days I don't know if I am wrong or right_ and my _mind is playing tricks on_ me, but I know, deep inside, what I feel about you. _'Cause though the truth may vary_ , that never changed.”

Oh, how I want to believe him. But how can I? This Peeta is just a manifestation of my mind, of what I really want. Him, healthy, sane, in love with me. The truth couldn't be more different.

Still, I cling to him with every ounce of strength I possess, never wanting to leave this piece of heaven that are his arms, that my mind conjured up from long gone memories.

I don't know how long we stay there – him comforting me, me breathing him in – but at some point Peeta moves to get up.

Panicking, I grab his arms and yank him back to me, but he is so strong, so much stronger than me, and I'm miserably failing. He slips out of my grasp. “No! No no no, Peeta! Please, Peeta, don't go!” I mumble frantically, new tears stinging my eyes.

“Katniss, you have to let me go. You have to wake up.”

Wake up? No, I don't want to wake up. I don't want to go back to a world where I don't have him. I shake my head and grab his arms once again, refusing to let him go.

“Katniss.” he lays back down with me, and I immediately launch myself at him. “I know you don't want to, but _just let me go. We'll meet again soon_.”

In response, my hands claw at his shoulders, and if he weren't a dream I'm sure I would draw blood.

"Listen to me. _Now we're torn apart_ and _there's nothing we can do_. You have to let me go for now. But I promise, _soon it will all be over, buried with our past._ I'm fighting my way back to you. But you need to wake up. Now all you can do is have faith in me. Don't give up on me, on us. _Wait for me. Please, hang around. I'll see you when_ you _fall asleep_."

I look up, and his eyes are so full of hope and love that I almost drown in them. I nod numbly, and his hand is back on my cheek, warm and safe. Instantly, I feel incredibly tired, and my eyes start to drop on their own will.

I may be okay with waking up – for now – but I'm not ready to let him go. So, with the last energy I can muster to delay our departure, I ask him, “Stay with me?”

His answering smile makes my heart flutter in that pleasant way I hadn't been experiencing in a long time. “Always.”

I wake up to the sound of beeping machines and to the smell of antiseptic. In the numbness caused by the morphling, my cheek still feels warm from Peeta's touch.


	8. The Sinking Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is sad. This song is sad. Listen to this song if you don't know it already.  
> I don't own THG nor My Head is an Animal  
> Now, on to reading!

[ ](http://it.tinypic.com?ref=25z58ab)

 

**Katniss' POV**

I don't close my eyes. Every time my lids drift closed, images of little hands reaching for silver parachutes, of innocent, loved people shredded to pieces, of a blond braid and a shirt tail catching fire flash before me, and the pain is excruciating.

So I don't close my eyes. Not willingly, at least. I instead focus on the cold fire in the hearth, on the burning scars that have just recently started healing, on the way the sun crosses the floor of this room I barely leave.

If I can, I don't move. If I can, I don't talk. I eat what Greasy Sae cooks. I try to answer to her questions. I stare. I breath. I live.

And I shouldn't.

I feel utterly alone. Not like in my Capitol prison, after I killed Coin. It's not because there isn't anyone in this house sometimes, someone that isn't a ghost. I simply don't have anybody. No family, no friend. Nobody. I'm alone in this cruel world covered in debris and ashes.

The solitude feels like a _cold, dark sea, wrapping its arms around me, pulling me down to the deep._ And I deserve it. I deserve to drown in this bottomless nothing. So many died because of me, because of my recklessness. Yet, I am still alive.

Some of the ghosts that haunt me have faces I've never seen, people from other districts, tributes from other games, casualties of a war. Others are people that I've lost, allies, companions, friends, sisters, lovers. They all look at me with suffocating disappointment, their angry, dead eyes asking me why I didn't save them, accusing me to live a life I don't deserve. And I look at them all, all those faces, _all_ those _eyes on me_.

Sometimes I think I could _go away._ Just _get out of here_ and disappear in the woods. Let the nature do what I seem to be incapable of doing. But who am I kidding? I'm not gonna leave this chair, this house. I'll let the ghosts stare at me and judge me, and the _waves_ of the solitude sea _rock me_ until all there's left of me are white, corroded, broken bones.

I fleetingly think of Peeta when Greasy Sae mention spring, one day. He is another person that I lost. His blue eyes, once so similar to those of my sweet, little Prim, are now black with rage and fear, and his life made of sacks of flour, wrestling practice, and a smiling family has been torn away from him, turned into ashes and charred bodies. And _although I wished_ he _could stay_ , in the moment when he most needed me – and I most needed him - _I pushed_ him _away_.

I think that it is definitive now. I haven't seen him in months. He probably is somewhere where he can rebuilt a life, where he can create one. One that is not marred by my existence. It's the best choice.

_So many words_ were _left unsaid_ between us. I never thanked him, for anything he has ever done for me. Maybe once or twice, but never for the right reasons.

But it's too late to say anything, now. He is gone, maybe forever, another ghost to add to my ever growing collection, and _I'm all out of breathe_.

So _I close my eyes and fall asleep_. I'll let the weight of my guilt smother me. I'll let _all_ the _eyes on me_ , his _eyes on me_ , bury me slowly, bit by bit, under a pile of ashes in the big mass grave that the beautiful meadow full of dandelions and happiness has been turned into.

I'm awoken from my nightmare by the sound of a scraping shovel outside.

I spring towards the sound, drawn to it like a moth to the flame, thinking that I finally went mad and that my ghosts are now corporeal, come to destroy me in a more effective way.

I freeze on the threshold when I see him there. He looks healthy, somehow. His cheeks are rosy from the exertion of planting something along the side of my house, his eyes are blue, seemingly untouched by the horror of the war and his captivity. But I know better. At a more attentive look, it's easy to notice the scars on his skin and the dark circles under his eyes.

But his eyes are blue. The same blue of the morning sky. The same blue that so much resembles that of Prim's eyes. The same blue I could lose myself into and never feel the need to come back up to breath.

Once again, I was wrong. Maybe not for me, maybe not to me, but Peeta – my Peeta? – is back.


	9. Yellow Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter from Peeta's POV.  
> It is about one of his flashback, so some one may not like it.  
> I don't own THG nor My Head is an Animal.  
> Now, on to reading!

**[ ](http://it.tinypic.com?ref=25z58ab) **

 

**Peeta's POV**

I don't know how it happens. I mean, I should be able to predict when an episode is coming after all the work Dr. Aurelius and I have done, after the war and these months over the phone. But I'm not. It just happens.

I'm in my studio, looking at the canvas I've just put on the easel, trying to figure out what is the image that is hiding behind the white material. I know that night isn't the best time to paint, but since I can't sleep at all – I'm never gonna take those sleeping pills the doc prescribed me, they only make me unable to wake up when a nightmare hits, and they always hit, everytime I close my eyes – why not starting on a sketch I can finish in the early afternoon, when the natural light comes through the windows in the perfect way?

I keep dozens of candles in here. I really don't like the artificial light when I work. They don't give the right halo to the canvas. They're too cold, too fake. The soft glow of the candles creates lights and shadows on the canvas, and all I have to do is to follow those shapes to draw something that is natural, real. And real is good. Real soothes me.

I'm just there, sitting on a stool, _looking for a place to start_ , when a flicker from a nearby candle casts a shadow that particularly catches my attention. It's just a moment, a little, winding shadow moving rapidly over the canvas, like a snake, like a reptile, like a white lizard in a sewer, ripping helpless people apart.

A hiss comes out of the canvas. "Katnisss..."

I stumble on my feet, letting the stool fall to the ground, and push the easel away.

But it's too late. There's a shimmering all around, in the light, in the room. _Everything feels so different now_ , even the air that I'm greedily sucking into my lungs in a last attempt to block the episode.

I screw my eyes shut and rub them with the heels of my hands.

It's not real. Not real not real not real not re–

My nostrils are attacked by the disgusting smell of rotten things and bodily waste. I feel _water_ welling _up to my knees,_ soaking my night clothes. The hissing of the mutts increases in intensity, a call for me to join them, to hunt with them. All I see when I open my eyes is darkness, and in it thousands of hollow eyes stare at me.

I'm back in the sewers.

I look frantically around me for something to defend myself with, but there's nothing here, only darkness.

Not real not real not real not real not real.

There's a moment of complete stillness where the hissing stops. Then the mutts jump out of the darkness and over me. I'm pushed back and down under the water, and I struggle to breath, flailing under those monsters, water filling my lungs.

For some miracle, I manage to shake one of them off, and I sit up, gulping air. But my reprieve is short. The same lizard closes its mouth around my arm when I lift it to cover my face. Its teeth sink in my flesh sending white hot pain all over me. An animalistic scream leaves my mouth.

I try to get rid of the mutt, kicking it, punching it, but its hold is strong and increasing with every blow. It's gonna rip my arm off if I don't do anything.

The others are once again pushing me back into the water, their claws leaving angry red gashes all over my flesh.

My free arm goes underwater to find some support, when something get caught in my palm. I lift it up to see the object. It's the knife I had in the second Arena. Perfect.

I clutch the handle and, with a roar, plunge the blade into the mutt that it's mauling my arm. The beast emits a pained sound and lets go of me, falling beside me, and heap of scales and death. The others disappear, back in the darkness, only their eyes visible.

That was easy. It can't be that easy.

And in fact it is not.

The mutt I killed starts cracking, dark, rotten blood pouring out of the cracks, and suddenly explodes. The bits of it that fall over me are like millions of scorching bites. They pierce my skin, get under it, crawl under it like ants of fire, burning their path inside me.

The pain is unbearable. I claw at my skin, trying desperately to get rid of it, to dig it out. My short nails catch in the gashes the mutts left on me, in the scars the war gave me, and tear the skin even more.

"Peeta?"

Suddenly, _I see a light_ in the darkness. A perfect, pure, yellow _light_ that _is blinding my eyes,_ but it's so beautiful and I can't look away. Until I realize that the light is all around Katniss.

"What are you doing here?!" I scream at her. "Get out of here! They will take you, too!"

Why is she here? She shouldn't be here. They will kill her. Can't she see the mutts in the darkness, looking at us with those hollow eyes, and the wounds on me? She has to go!

But she _ignore_ s _all those big warning signs_ and runs to me, gathering me in her arms.

"No, Katniss!" I try to push her away, but the fight with the mutts weakened me. Or she is just stronger than me. "Run! Go!"

Her hold on me tightens. "Not real, Peeta. Not real." she whispers in my ear. "I'm not leaving you."

"They're all around us." I whimper, letting my head rest where Katniss brings it, over her breast. "Can't you see them, _deep in the dark_?"

"Shh. There's no one here, Peeta. Only us. Not real. Not real."

"They will _eat us alive_."

"No, no, Peeta. Not real. Not real. Shh." Her hand moves to my head, sweeping the hair away from my sweaty forehead. "I'm here with you. Don't worry. Shh."

I wrap my arms around her waist. I must be squeezing her too hard, because she whimpers. But she doesn't say anything about it, limiting herself to caressing my hair and whispering soothing reassurances in my ear.

"How did you know where I was?" I ask her, my voice muffled by the material of her nightshirt.

"I _follow_ ed the _yellow light_." she says, and I finally notice that the darkness is not around us anymore. It's outside the window. I'm in my studio, trashed in the wake of my now fading episode. The candles that I miraculously missed in my rage are still casting their glow around.

It wasn't real. Not real.

This is real. The house I'm in is real. The scars covering my skin are real. Real like the hand softly caressing my hair. Like the sound of the heart beating just a bit faster than normal under my ear. Real like Katniss.

I let her take care of me, exhausted after the episode, and as I fall asleep, I thank whatever god there is that, through the darkness, Katniss found me.


	10. Sloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! I was busy with stuff in RL.  
> After this, there are only two chapters left. And there will be fluff. You're welcome.  
> I don't own THG nor My Head is an Animal.  
> Now, on to reading!

****

 

**Katniss' POV**

There are still many bad days in which I can't get up from bed, or Peeta has such a bad episode that he almost destroys the chair he grabs to keep himself anchored. Days that follow nights of terror.

But then not all days are bad. This is not.

The night hasn't been kind with us. We both had awaken in tears, our skin covered in sweat and our throats rough for too much screaming. But we had each other's arms to coax us out of the nightmares of torture and dead sisters.

We are lucky to have the _book that I keep by my bed_. We pour our lives between its pages with words and sketches, and now it's _full of_ our _stories that_ we _drew up from a little dream of mine, a little nightmare of_ his.

In the morning, cocooned in Peeta's warmth, I open my eyes to find him looking at me with something that I haven't seen in his eyes for a long time, a longing mixed with awe and tenderness. I can't help the little, shy smile that blooms on my lips, and I feel something in my heart stir when he _smile_ s _back at me_.

Usually I go hunt when Peeta bakes, but this morning I decide to stay home and watch him work. I do that a lot when he paints, and I can see the same concentration that drives him in his studio take him over as he pours flour and measures ingredients. I don't miss the forest today. The woods have always been the place I could be myself, free and without a care, at peace. Now this house _feels like_ the _forest,_ and Peeta is perfect in the middle of it.

He looks up at me and smiles when our eyes meet. I stopped looking away when he catches me staring. We've both done our fair share of staring in these months.

"Wanna help?" he asks.

I'm hesitant to accept. I've never been much helpful in the kitchen department. But his smile is so endearing that the "Sure." slips out of my mouth on its own.

And, apparently, it shouldn't have. I'm a total disaster. I can't measure the ingredients, nor mix them, nor knead the dough properly – I'm putting too much force in it, according to Peeta. "Okay, I give up." I say shaking my hands to get rid of everything that got stuck on them.

Peeta chuckles, a bowl filled with a perfectly soft dough put aside to rest. "Practice makes perfect."

Look at him, with his smug, handsome smile. Is there anything he isn't good at?

While he is busy wiping the counter and disposing of the useless stone I baked, I grab a handful of flour from the packet next to me. "Peeta?"

He hums questioningly, and when he turns towards me I throw the flour at him. The white powder sticks to his face and hair, and he coughs, his eyes screwed shut.

My laugh comes deep from my belly. I haven't laughed like this in a very long time, and after my father's death those few times were always thanks to Peeta.

"You're gonna pay for it." he says, his voice mockingly menacing, with an undertone of amusement, as he wipes the flour from his face.

"Only if you catch me."

I sprint away before Peeta can wraps his arms around me, _and I run through the_ rooms of my not so long ago cold, empty house _with_ his _hands chasing me._ We giggle and roar like little children, like the teenagers that our lives never let us be. It's a carefree sound, happy and warm. That's how I've been feeling like since Peeta and I found each other again. _To be us to take this plunge, to forgive and forget_ every bad thing we did, to learn from them, it's short of a miracle. For a long time I thought that we were too broken to even function, let alone trust the other in the way we do now, so similar and so different from before.

The carpet in the living room slipping under my bare foot slows me down, and Peeta catches me, his arms going around my middle, and he swings me around before we both fall, giggling like children.

I don't really think about it when my arms wrap around his neck, bringing his body closer to mine on the carpet. I can feel his laughter reverberate through his body, mirroring mine. It feels so good and real.

Peeta perches on an elbow to get his weight off of me, and his face is so close to mine that I can count every freckle on his lovely nose, every lash that adorns his eyes as blue as the morning sky. Our laughter quiets down, but we still smile, now with a bit of shyness and just a hint of awe, our mingled breaths between us.

I don't know who is the first to move, but slowly our lips merge together in a tentative kiss, soft as the wings of butterflies. Then again and again, little, loving kisses that soon morph in a heated clash of tongues, teeth, souls, hands intertwining with hair or skimming over sides and broad backs.

I haven't felt anything like this since the beach, since the kiss that made me realize how much I craved Peeta. Not only his presence, but the way he made me feel, protected and whole and loved. Does Peeta love me again? Did he find that feeling that President Snow had robbed him of, to finally come back to me?

I break the kiss and he gives a little moan of protest. His hot breath fans over my face and his eyes are hooded with longing and love. Love. He loves me, this man that I love so much. Because yes, I love him. There's no way to deny it. It's _thoughts like these that keep me on my feet_ when all I want is to crawl back in my dark pit of self-loathing.

This time, after so much time spent in anger and fear, after all the pain we went through to put our pieces back together, in the living room of a house still haunted by the ghosts of a past that now seems just a little bit more bearable, there's no one to stop Peeta and I.


	11. Lakehouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for my tardiness (again). I didn't like this chapter much, so I wanted to fix it and make it better. I still am not sure it is okay, but I've been told that it is nice.  
> I forgot all along to do something important! I have to thank my lovely sister **neophytehgfan** on Tumblr for pre-reading all the chapters of this work! You're the sweetest and I love you.  
>  I don't own THG nor My Head is an Animal.  
> Now, on to reading!

[ ](http://it.tinypic.com?ref=25z58ab)

 

**Katniss' POV**

"Are we there yet?"

I chuckle as Peeta struggles to keep up with my pace. He didn't complain this much the last time we came to the woods. But that was probably because it was his first time out of the fence – it's up only to keep dangerous animals out of the district now.

I can still remember the awe in his eyes as he looked everywhere, taking it all in for future use in his paintings – I know it, I saw them. His heavy feet pounded on the forest floor noisily, crunching leaves and snapping twigs, just like now, but not even then I cared about it. We were and are here to celebrate.

"We're not that far." I say. I stop so that Peeta can catch up and take his hand when he's near.

Peeta pulls me to his chest, his arms wrapping around me, and kisses me. One of those lingering kisses that we have been enjoying so much since the first in my living room because they are for us only. "Remind me why we are out here." he asks me, his lips a breath from mine.

"Celebrating our first anniversary?" The statement turns into a question as Peeta's mouth travels down my neck, kissing and nibbling.

"And couldn't we do that in bed?"

I giggle – god, how does he make me giggle? - and squat him in the chest. "C'mon."

It isn't long before we arrive, hand in hand, to the little slope that I could recognize everywhere. _We climb up to the top_ and I sigh happily at the sight in front of us. The lake shines as the summer middle morning sun illuminates it. The shore is sandy and grassy at the same time, end everything around the blue, perfect mirror of water is green and luscious. The quiet is weirdly heightened by the voices of birds hidden in the trees. In the corner closer to us, my father's cabin.

I glance at Peeta, biting my lip to hide a smile. I shove him and yell, "Race you!"

"Hey!" With that we both run _down_ pass _the house_ and to the lake, a trail of clothes and the backpack Peeta insisted to take with us discarded behind us.

Without pause, we jump in the lake, laughing and shrieking when the semi-cold water hits our heated skin. We splash around, swimming – well, I swim, Peeta just floats – around each other and playing games of who can stay longer underwater and who can drown the other first.

It is all exactly like the first time we came here together. And like that first time, we soon find ourselves in the other's arms, our fingers caressing faces and hair, our lips locked in an heated kiss.

We are so lucky to have this. Thanks to the other's presence, our bad days are fewer and fewer. Peeta hasn't had an episode in almost seven months, and my nightmares aren't always so unbearable anymore. I think that what really is helping us is the promise we made to each other to always be there and to never give up on us. And also this fire, this hunger that he wakes in me every time he kisses me. I've never felt this with anyone else, and he's the only one that can _chase this fire away_ when it gets too strong that I'm afraid I will combust.

I break the kiss and Peeta's lips instantly go to my neck. "Let's get out."

"I don't know." he mumbles against my skin. "I'm pretty good here."

I take his face between my hands so he can see the mischievous grin I'm sporting. "But you'll be better on the cot in the cabin."

Peeta doesn't waste a second. He throws me over his shoulder and gives me a little spank that makes me yelp and giggle again. He runs out of the lake as best as the water allows him, his prosthetic slipping on the wet bank for a second.

He puts me back on my feet only when we've passed the threshold. I attach my mouth to the delicate skin over his Adam's apple and he groans, the vibration of the sound making my lips tingle.

We move blindly in the cabin. _The floor under our feet whispers out_ as the memories of our last time here guide our steps. Luckily, the back of my knees hit the cot, and I fall on it, bringing Peeta down with me.

Oh yes, it is all like the last time. Sure, we both were more shy back then, the inexperience of two virgins making the whole action clumsy and embarrassing. But the way Peeta's eyes burn with lust, the way his hands worship my body like it was the most perfect piece of art, never shying away from my scars – matching his – but kissing every one of them reverently, the voice in which he whispers the words of his unconditional love. It all is the same.

Afterward, we lie on our sides facing each others, matching, sedated grins on our flushed faces. Peeta takes my left hand and brings it to his lips, then he kisses the thin golden band he insisted he give me for our toasting, exactly a year ago.

"Real or not real?" he whispers.

I move my hand on his cheek, my thumb grazing his cheekbone lovingly. "Real."

His grin gets even bigger as he moves closer and gives me a long, lingering kiss. "Happy anniversary, Mrs Mellark."

I groan. "I told you not to call me that."

"Well, I'll do it anyway."

I laugh despite my protest. "Happy anniversary, Peeta."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is the last! Toast!babies!


	12. Dirty Paws

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, my friends! It's a cute, fluffy last chapter. Or at least I think it's cute. It's the longest of them all, but not long enough to not be a drabble anymore, right  
> I have to thank **neophytehgfan** for pre-reading this and giving me some advice along the way, and all of you that read, liked, commented on this little work of mine. Thank you!  
>  I don't own THG nor My Head is an Animal.  
> Now, on to reading!

[ ](http://it.tinypic.com?ref=25z58ab)

 

**Katniss' POV**

I hear giggles coming from a room that should have been silent long ago, and the exasperated sigh of Peeta.

“Come here, little monkey. You have to put on the rest of your PJ.”

“But I not sweepy, daddy!”

I move as silently as possible towards my son's room and take a peek. Here they are, the most important people in the world. Peeta is in the center of the room, a hand raking through his hair in exasperation, the other on his side, the blue pajamas bottom dangling from his arm. Our three-year-old is _jumping up and down the floor_ , a ball of blond curls and energy – I knew it was a bad idea to let him eat a whole cupcake for dessert at dinner. His sister is watching the scene sitting cross-legged on the little boy's bed. Smug little thing she is, with a smile like her father's and a stubbornness just like mine.

“C'mon, buddy!” Peeta manages to catch the boy when he darts in front of him, and he throws him over his shoulder, eliciting a delighted shriek. “Mummy said she wanted you in your bed when she was back from grampa Haymitch's.”

“Yes, go to sleep , monkey.” The girl says. At seven, she's going through a phase of distaste for her little brother, and her teacher says it's normal for older siblings. What her teacher doesn't know is that she almost bit off the hear of the boy that pushed her brother once in the town square. But I’m not gonna tell her that.

“You, too, princess.” Peeta glances at her as he puts the pajamas bottom on the kicking boy on his shoulder. How can he do that is still a mystery to me.

She huffs. “But I'm a big girl. I'm not tired.”

“You have school tomorrow. You go to sleep now.”

She scowls, something else she inherited from me.

“Tell you what.” Peeta puts the boy on his side. “If you go to sleep, I'll tell you a story.”

“You aways tells stowy, daddy.” he says, patting his cheek.

Peeta taps his little nose. “Yes, but this is a different one.” He puts the boy under the covers and sits next to him, patting the spot on his other side. “Sit with us, princess.”

She crawls up the bed and lies next to her brother. Peeta's arm moves to the pillow they're both lying their heads on. In the hallway, I lean against the wall and listen. I like to imagine Peeta do silly faces and gesticulate wildly. He loves to tell them stories so much. It always gives me a warm, indescribable feeling.

“So, children. You know, when I was your age I _had a pet dragon_.”

The girl scoffs. “Everyone know dragons don't exist, daddy.”

“Okay, okay. It was a dragonfly. But it was a special dragonfly, because it could talk.”

I can hear my son's exclamation of awe. His sister is silent, so she may not be feeling the need to correct her father.

“It _was an okay guy_ , you know, always chatty and ready to joke. But it had this bad habit to run away from home now and then. It would stay away for days, sometimes week, and everytime _it_ would _came back with a story to say_. One day, when I had just started school, _it ran away_ again. It didn't come back for a whole week. But when it came back, he told us it had had this amazing adventure. That he had fought in a war and that he had met the queen of the forest.”

“The queen of the forest?” my daughter asks.

“Mummy?” adds the boy.

Peeta chuckles. “No, not your mummy, little monkey. The queen of the forest wasn't a person. She was a wolf. A white, beautiful wolf who was nice and kind and helped all her subjects.”

“What is a subjects?” ask she.

“It is someone that lives in a kingdom. Since she was the queen, the forest was her kingdom, and every animal that lived there was her subject. The queen would _ran down the forest slopes_ , _her dirty paws and furry coat_ against the wind, and she would help whoever was in need. The dragonfly had run with her during his week away. Now, the forest, it was magical, too. It was a _forest of talking trees._ The trees were old and sage, and they knew everything. _They used to sing about the birds and the bees_ that lived on their branches. Once they were all friends, and they would help each other during the colder days. But then suddenly the queen bee had decided that those trees weren't big enough for both bees and birds, so _the_ _bees had declared a war_. So the queen of the forest decided to help.”

“How much bees were they?” the girl asks.

“How many bees. They were more than the stars in the sky and the raindrops during a storm!”

“A wot!” chimes my son.

“Yes! _The sky wasn't big enough for them all_. _The birds_ , they were lot less, so _they got help from below_ , _from_ the queen of the forest _and the creatures of snow_ she had called to help her. They battled for days, but after that, _for a while things were cold._ The battle had been very hard, and all the soldiers _were down in their homes_ to rest. It all happened in the morning. A giant buzz filled the air, waking up the birds and the furry animals on the ground. The sight was horrible. _The forest that once was green was colored black by those machines_. They were so many! And no one knew where all the new bees had come from!”

“Then... then what did the queen do, daddy?” asks the girl, a big yawn interrupting her.

“The queen didn't give up. _She and her furry friends took down the queen bee and her men_ , one after the other, all day long. When only a few bee remained, they surrendered. After that day, the birds and the bees were once again friends, so the queen of the forest could go on, helping others. That is the day the dragonfly came back home. And now, we're going to sleep.”

I hear Peeta getting up from the bed, moving the covers – probably to cover the boy better – and walking to the other side to pick up our daughter. I run for our bedroom, not wanting to be seen and interrupt this moment between them.

“Daddy?” the girl asks him once they are in her bedroom, right in front of ours.

“Yes, princess?”

“Mummy is gonna have another baby?”

There's a moment of silence. Two weeks ago we told them that I'm pregnant. The boy didn't think much of it, only saying that he hoped was a boy so he could play with him and because boys were bester – it's so cute when he says the wrong word. The girl was silent, which preoccupied me. She always has something to say about anything. And a new baby? That is something that she should discuss plenty. She was too little to really understand the last time, so I expected her to ask a million question about it.

“Yes, baby. Are you okay about it?”

She hums, I don't know if because she's about to fall asleep or because she's thinking. “I think so. The last time was okay. But I hope it's a girl this time.”

“We'll see in five months, baby.”

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“How do babies get into mummy's tummy?”

“That is a story for another time, princess. Now, sleep. Good night.”

“Night, daddy.”

I move away from the semi-closed door and pretend to be changing into my night clothes. I think Peeta is surprised to see me in the room – he still can't hear me move around the house – but he doesn't say anything.

He comes behind me as I remove my shirt and his arms wrap around me, his hands moving over my small bump.

“When did you get back?” he asks, leaving a kiss on my neck.

“Right in time for the bedtime story. The birds and the bees, Peeta?”

He chuckles. “First thing that came to my mind, sorry.”

“That conversation is all yours, then.”

“Deal.” He holds me a little bit tighter and swings us gently left and right. “How are you feeling?”

I know he is referring to the baby, but I can't help but thinking about everything that happened to me in this life. All the people I loved and lost, and all those that I found again. All the pain that I went through at the hand of the Capitol and all the pain that I inflicted to others and to myself. All the nightmares and episodes and fear and joy and peace and love that I met, the only constant being this perfect man that never gave up on me, even when he didn't remember how to love me.

I don't know exactly when it happened, when I became worthy of this life, of the love of this beautiful soul, of the perfect lives we created together. But now that I have all this, I couldn't never live without it.

“I'm perfect.” I say. And I really am, as long as I have my children and Peeta next to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this story until the end :D

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! I'm on tumblr (littleevilisa) ;)


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